The Starfleet Captain's Guide To The 21st Century
by NikTaylor42
Summary: Kirk learns the danger of getting what you wished for when he, Spock, McCoy, Sulu, Chekov, and a redshirt are pulled through a wormhole into what could be their greatest challenge yet: surviving 21st century America.
1. Just Another Manic Monday

_Space…the final frontier. _

Breathtaking. Magnificent. Infinite.

And incredibly boring after you've been staring at it through a viewscreen for six days.

Kirk sighed and glanced about the bridge. Everyone looked hard at work – well, as hard at work as anyone _can_ look while sitting nearly motionless, staring blankly into little screens on the desk/console in front of them, occasionally twitching a finger to push a button or flip a switch.

Up front and below, Sulu muttered something to Chekov, who giggled and said something inaudible in reply. Kirk idly wondered what they were talking about, studying his finger. He had gotten a papercut earlier, and it still stung a little. He put his finger in his mouth.

Somebody giggled.

He whipped his finger out of his mouth and glanced around, but it was just Chekov again. He turned to Uhura, who was staring fixedly at a point on the ceiling. Kirk looked up. There was nothing there. He had half-expected to see a spider, even though he knew that the Enterprise had been completely disinfected before setting off, and logic dictates that spiders couldn't just begin existing for no reason.

Speaking of logic…

He turned his gaze to Spock, who was leaning over the console as if frozen in place, looking for all the world like the blue light he was staring into had sucked out his soul and that it was just his body that remained, his_ katra_ stuck somewhere in the matrix.

"Captain..."

Uhura held her hand to the side of her head, listening. Kirk turned to her expectantly, but then she shook her head. "Sorry, Captain. Never mind."

He suppressed a rude word and closed his eyes. A song played in the back of his head, some Orion dance tune. He hummed it to himself, lightly drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair.

Chekov laughed.

Kirk's eyes flew open, and he immediately thought of spaghetti. Why he didn't know, but once created the idea grew wings, and he began to intensely crave a bowl of spaghetti. He toyed with the idea of getting it himself, and then decided he would just get the next ensign who wandered into the bridge to get it for him. Normally, eating wasn't allowed on the bridge, but what the hell. He was the captain, and besides, was Starfleet really going to relieve him of his duties for eating spaghetti? He'd be careful. He wouldn't spill it.

His stomach growled. He looked over at Spock again, wondering if he could persuade him to do it.

The Vulcan somehow sensed his gaze, and looked up from the blue light to stare at him. Kirk stared back. He waited for Spock to look away, but he didn't, and after a few minutes, it was just awkward, so Kirk turned back around. Chekov was slumped over his console, shoulders shaking with laughter.

Kirk couldn't take it anymore. "Gentlemen," he said, sounding stern. Sulu immediately went back to his work, nudging Chekov, who looked at him, then at the captain, and tried to suppress his mirth.

"Mr. Chekov."

"Y-yes, Keptin Kirk?" the Russian asked, his voice wavering a bit.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing, sir." He gave Kirk a charming grin, and then turned back to his console.

And giggled.

Kirk sighed again.

It was just one of those days.

…~…

"Bones, I have a problem."

McCoy glanced up from the saltshaker he was inspecting to see Kirk standing in the middle of sickbay. He looked him over. "You look O.K. to me."

"I'm suffering from an advanced case of boredom."

"Ah." McCoy turned the saltshaker upside down and peered into it. "Well, Jim, it is a Monday…back on Earth, anyhow. You know how Mondays are."

"Yes, only too well." Kirk sat down on one of the cots. "It just feels worse today. I'm… restless. It's been a while since anything even remotely interesting happened. Two whole weeks, actually."

"Hmm…"

Kirk watched McCoy shake the object, then hold it to his ear, listening. "What are you doing?"

"I think it's broken." He tossed it into a nearby wastebasket. "I'll have to get a new one the next time we stop at a starbase. Good thing I don't use that one very often." He ambled over, plopping down on the cot opposite Kirk. "What's on your mind?"

"Spaghetti." Kirk's stomach growled. "Do you have any idea what's going on with Chekov and Sulu?"

"No. Why should I? They're on your bridge, Jim." He raised an eyebrow. "Why, is something wrong?"

"No, not really. Chekov just seems to have the giggles, that's all."

"Ah."

They sat there for a few minutes in silence, but it was a comfortable silence, one that lets your mind lazily wander off and frolic among metaphorical fields of pretty metaphorical flowers, dancing with large metaphorical flocks of happy metaphorical butterflies, then suddenly stunning them with metaphorical phasers and watching them float gently to the metaphorical ground.

"Wanna play cards?" Kirk asked suddenly.

McCoy pulled out a pack of cards from a compartment under the operating table, and for about fifteen minutes they played an extremely intense game of 'Go Fish'. Then Kirk's communicator chirped.

"Kirk here," he said, flipping it open.

"_Captain, we are approaching a spatio-temporal anomaly," _Spock's voice informed him.

"How do you _know_ it's a temporal anomaly?" Kirk asked.

"_The sensors indicate it, Captain…as well as the rather large sign near it that reads 'This is a spatio-temporal anomaly' in large black letters, with an arrow pointed to the anomaly in question._"

"All right, I'll buy that." He turned to McCoy. "Finish up later?"

"Look forward to it."

The captain walked out of sickbay, and stopped a pretty young woman passing by.

"Do me a favor and get me some spaghetti, ensign."

"Yes, Captain."

He headed off to the bridge.

…~…

The doors to the bridge whooshed open. "Status report, Mr. Chekov."

"It's right there, sir," the Russian replied, pointing to the screen.

"Thank you, Mr. Chekov."

It was an amorphous, deep blue mass, shifting and fluctuating near the large sign. Kirk thought that to be a little strange, but shook it off. "So…what are we doing about it?"

"We are currently scanning to ascertain whether or not it poses a threat to us," Spock replied, staring into the blue sensor light.

"Does it?"

"It does not appear that way, Captain. It seems to be merely a matter of maneuvering around it."

"Well, then. Commence maneuvering, Mr. Sulu."

"Yes, sir."

The anomaly slowly moved to the left of the viewscreen as the ship changed course, until finally disappearing from sight. Kirk sighed. The only interesting thing they had seen in weeks, and they were moving away from it. _Go back and check it out_, a little voice in his head whispered. _Come on, you know you want to, go check it out._

"Mr. Sulu –"

Before the words had left his mouth, the blue mass quickly moved back on screen. "What's going on?"

"It's in our way again, sir."

_Good, _Kirk thought.

"Should we attempt to go around it again, sir?"

"No, no, let's, um, let's take some readings, check it out, see what's going on." Kirk leaned back in his chair.

Sulu shrugged. "Aye-aye, sir." He flipped a switch.

The blue thing suddenly began to grow at an astonishing rate. "Captain, it's moving towards us!"

Chekov giggled, then quickly composed himself.

"Red alert! Evasive maneuvers, Mr. Sulu!"

"Alerting red and maneuvering evasively, Captain!" Sulu shouted, pushing random buttons. The mass filled the screen.

_"Mr. Sulu!"_

At that moment, the doors to the bridge whooshed open, and the pretty ensign Kirk had met in the hallway walked in, holding a plate of spaghetti. "Captain, I brought your –"

The rest of her sentence was cut off as she tripped over an imaginary speck of dust and fell forward, the platter of spaghetti leaping from her hands to hit Chekov squarely on the back of his head.

Sulu reached for Chekov, Kirk jumped out of his chair, Spock's soul was jerked back into his body as he turned from the blue sensor light to see what the hell was going on, a security guard in the back leapt forward, yelling, "Noooooo!", and the blue mass consumed the ship.

And with the sound of ten thousand people saying 'whop', they disappeared from the bridge.


	2. Spaghetti and Pants

Author's Note:

I've gotten a lot of questions about this, so here it is: Yes. This is a repost. There were, I think, 7 chapters up before it got taken down before, so I'm gradually posting these again as I work on continuing this story as well as working on others.

If for some reason it gets taken down again I'll just put it on LJ or something. But for now here you go.

Enjoy.

...~...

Life is like eating pancakes with a spoon. Or a blue orange. Or a smiling Vulcan. Or the early twenty-first century fascination with _Twilight_.

It just doesn't make _sense._

At least, not to the individuals traveling through it. Perhaps somewhere, somehow, there is _someone _out there that understands life completely, and laughs at us poor, unenlightened lesser beings.

But for the most part, life is a confusing, messy mess, the only time it ever makes sense being in hindsight, and not even then sometimes. However, for the sake of a book or story, there are explanations to be made.

The explanations of the events that have currently befallen the starship _Enterprise _and its captain begin in a bar on the other side of the galaxy, where two people are planning a game.

"I lost the game," Q announced, downing the rest of his drink and pushing his glass toward the bartender. He turned to the man beside him. "Now, what were you saying?"

The man glared at him. He wasn't actually a man at all, but an immortal, omnipotent being, one of the same species as Q, a member of the Q Continuum. Incidentally, in the Continuum_ everyone_ is called Q, but to avoid confusion (or rather, further confusion), we shall refer to him as Tim.

Tim scooted closer to Q. He spoke in low, hushed tones. "Did you hide it?"

"Depends. What was it I was supposed to hide?" Q teased, then rolled his eyes at the scowl on Tim's face. "Oh, calm down. Of course I did."

"Did you hide it _well_, though?"

"No, I hid it in plain sight, with a giant sign pointing to it," Q retorted. Then grinned. "Well, actually, I did. So to speak."

"What are you talking about?"

Q waved his hand dismissively. "I wished a couple hundred thousand wormholes into existence. One of them is a gateway to its hiding place."

"You _what?_" Tim exclaimed. "Are you mad? They'll find it in no time!"

"Not necessarily," the other replied. "There's a trick to getting through."

"A trick?" Tim leaned forward. "What is it?"

Q took his refilled glass from the bartender, took a long swallow, then said, "I can't tell you."

"What?" Tim sat up again, disappointed. "Why?"

"Because…" Q looked around, then continued, "…they might be watching." He held up a finger. "But! I will give you a hint."

He leaned in close, whispered something in Tim's ear, then leaned back, looking satisfied with himself.

"What?" Tim asked.

"What what?" Q inquired.

"What did you say?"

"You didn't hear?"

"Obviously not!"

"Oh." Q shrugged. "Well, sucks for you." He finished his drink, then stood up.

"Where are you going?"

"I haven't decided yet." He stared at the ceiling, apparently pondering this.

"Tell me what you said!" Tim demanded.

Q laughed. "Sorry. I don't repeat myself."

He suddenly disappeared in a bright flash of light.

Tim could have followed his five-dimensional trail, but decided it would be futile. He grumbled into his margarita.

Somewhere, somehow, _someone_ laughed.

…~…

Uhura stared incomprehensibly at the near-empty bridge. Two seconds ago, the anomaly was engulfing the ship, and five people were flailing about by the navigational console over a bowl of spaghetti.

Now, two seconds later, the viewscreen was clear and she stood alone on the bridge, with the exception of a dazed ensign and a noodly mess on Chekov's desk. She stood there for a moment, then did the only thing she could think of to do.

"Come in, Mr. Scott."

"_Scott here. What's going on up there, Lieutenant?_"

"...I have no idea."

"_Can I speak to the captain?_"

"He's gone."

There was a pause. "_Gone?_"

"He disappeared when we went through the blue thing."

"_Blue thing? What're ya talkin' about?"__  
_

"There was this...spatio-temporal anomaly? We were scanning it, and then it just attacked the ship."

_"Is it still there?"_

"No, it's gone." She hesitated. "I don't know what to do."

"_Mr. Spock there?_"

"No, he's gone, too."

"_For God's sake, lass, who's up there with ya?" _

"No one, sir." The ensign didn't count.

"_Aye_." He paused. "_Guess you're in charge_."

"But I don't want to be in charge."

"_Well, I'd love to take over for ya, but I'm a wee bit busy down here." _

"Doing what?"

He sounded exasperated. "_Ya want me to explain it all to ya? I'm fluctuating the warp coils to a gravitational constant degree of four, generating the antimatter photons in the –_"

"Never mind."

"_Good!_" His voice softened. "_Listen, Uhura, you'll be fine. In fact, you don't have to do much in the way of navigating. We'll just wait here until we get the captain back. Try raising him on his communicator. Get an ensign to scan the area. And relax, lass. Everything's going to be all right." _

She sighed. "All right. Uhura out."

The pretty blonde ensign was still standing there staring at the spaghetti. She glanced over at Uhura. "Lieutenant –"

"Ensign, I want you to take over the long range scanners. Find out about the area and where we are."

She turned on the intercom. "Security guard to bridge,"then returned her attention to the ensign. "Who do you know with navigational and tactical training who could temporarily hold Sulu and Chekov's positions?"

"I –um…Lieutenant…"

"Ah, you're right, I need to get someone to clean that up. What was the captain thinking? Cleaning crew to bridge."

"No…Lieutenant –" the ensign replied, pointing.

"What, ensign?"

The woman walked over to the desk, bent down to pick something up from the ground, and held it up. For the second time in the past five minutes, Uhura stared without comprehending.

The object was a pair of black pants, Starfleet issue.

What the _hell _was going on?

…~…

It was pitch black. _The anomaly must've knocked out the power_, Kirk thought. He took a step forward, tripped and fell flat on his face.

_Ouch, _he thought. He rose to his feet. "Status report, Mr. Chekov."

"I can't see anything," came Chekov's reply, "and I have spaghetti sauce in my hair."

"Thank you, Mr. Chekov."

"What the hell is going on?"

Kirk started. "Bones? When did you get on the bridge?"

"How should I know, Jim? One minute I was in sickbay, and now I'm here. And I don't think this is the bridge, Jim."

"What? Why?"

"I'm sitting on a couch…"

"I am, too, sir," Chekov added, "It's a very nice couch."

"Hmm…" Since last time he checked there wasn't a couch, let alone a nice couch, on the bridge. Kirk stated the obvious. "Something must've happened when we passed through the anomaly." He thought for a second. "Everyone here, report."

"McCoy here."

"Chekov here."

"Spock here," the Vulcan intoned, a pillar of calm in the midst of…whatever this was.

"Reinalds here."

"Who are you?"

"Security, sir."

"Sulu here," came Sulu's voice hesitantly, "And um, Captain…"

"Yes, Mr. Sulu?"

"I –uh…don't seem to have any pants on…"

"You…what?"

"I'm not wearing pants, either, sir," Chekov replied.

Kirk was about to comment on the strangeness of this when suddenly he realized that he wasn't wearing pants either. He flushed, embarrassment and irritation building up inside him. "Somebody find the lights. I want to know what's going on."

The lights suddenly switched on to reveal all six of them, pants-less, in a small room filled with art and art supplies. The room was divided in two by a light gray curtain, which was drawn back at the moment to reveal a large, dark red couch against the wall on the far end of the room upon which McCoy and Chekov were seated. The red-shirted security guard was leaning against a strange machine, and Sulu was seated on the floor next to a shelf full of paintings and drawings. Kirk turned to see Spock standing by the light switch by the door, looking grim in his blue boxers. "We no longer appear to be in the proverbial state of Kansas, captain."

Kirk sighed. "Damn right about that."


	3. Art Block

"So now what?" McCoy asked.

The captain glanced about. "Try the door, Spock."

"It's locked, Captain," Spock replied, without moving.

"You didn't try it."

"I tried it when the lights were out."

"What about the other door, behind you?"

"Locked as well."

"All right, then." Kirk turned to Reinalds. "Blast that door."

"I can't sir."

"Why not?"

"My phaser was in my pants, sir."

Kirk suddenly felt the urge to scream like a banshee and hit the nearest Andorian with a banana. He suppressed it, seeing that both an Andorian and a banana did not seem to be in the vicinity, and turned to the stoic Vulcan. "Analysis, Mr. Spock."

"Judging from the fact that we are still alive, we are on an M-class planet. To narrow it further, the writing on the walls is in English, which indicates that we are on Earth. Most likely a primarily English-speaking country, such as America, Britain, or Australia."

Spock paused, then continued. "It appears to be somewhat reminiscent of the early 21st century."

"The 21st century?" Kirk asked, startled.

"Yes, captain. According to the –" He cut off suddenly, glancing down at his tricorder. "Captain, I am sensing a life form in the close proximity."

"Set phasers to stun."

Nobody moved.

"Captain..."

Kirk sighed. "Yes, yes, never mind." He irrationally hoped that the life form was an Andorian.

"The life form is right outside the door, Captain." Spock said, peering at his tricorder.

Chekov giggled. McCoy kicked him.

The doorknob rattled, then slowly turned.

...~...

Amanda Mitchell was mad.

Crazy. Bonkers. Completely and utterly off her rocker.

And no one knew it but her.

What was the point in telling others, in having them point and whisper and isolate her, perhaps even locking her up in an insane asylum? Why on Earth would she want to share her madness, if all that it would bring her was misery? So she didn't. She kept it to herself, and lived a rather decent life, as decent as one can have, all the while being quietly and inconspicuously mental.

Her insanity came in the form of hallucinations, ridiculously illogical objects and people in ridiculously illogical situations. At least, being illogical, they were rather easy to distinguish from reality. So whenever she saw a bright green fishing pole singing Christmas carols or a flying car full of llamas or an honest car salesmen, she simply ignored it and went on her merry way.

All this being said, it is perfectly understandable that when she opened the door to the school's art supply closet to retrieve her painting, and saw Kirk and company, she merely nodded at them and headed for the shelf Sulu was seated next to.

Kirk strode over to her and touched her arm. "Excuse me, can you tell us where we are?"

She ignored him and continued looking through the pile of paintings. The captain squeezed her arm. "Can you hear me? Look at me."

She pulled her art piece out from the middle of the pile and turned to go, giving no sign that she had noticed him. He stopped in front of her and grabbed her shoulders. She tried to keep moving, but Kirk held her steady. "Where are we?" he asked again, gazing into her eyes.

"No…where," she stammered, struggling to escape his grasp. "You're nowhere…because…you don't…exist. None of you…you're illusions…you're not real…you're not here…"

Her mind was reeling, trying to make sense of it all. Six men in an art supply closet without pants, one of them distinctly alien-looking, fit the description of illogical to a 'tee', and therefore shouldn't exist…however, if they didn't exist, they shouldn't be able to hold her somewhere against her will, yet this man was, but he couldn't possibly exist, he didn't make any sense…but…but…but…

She struggled violently with this, before deciding she had had quite enough and promptly shut down, going completely limp.

Kirk caught her as she fell and stood there a moment, obviously a little perplexed at the new development. He finally turned to McCoy. "Bones…?"

McCoy got up from the couch and walked over to Kirk, kneeling by the girl's body. He waved the tricorder over her, and then looked up. "She's dead, Jim."

"Wonderful."

They were stuck on 21st century Earth with no idea how they got there and no idea of how to get back, unarmed and de-pantsed, and now they had an unexplained death on their hands.

And it was about to get worse.

"Amanda? What's taking so long in there?"

Kirk and the crew froze. The doorknob rattled. "Amanda?"

"What do we do?" McCoy whispered.

"This stupid door. Locks every time it closes." The doorknob rattled again, more violently this time. "Amanda!"

"Hide!" Kirk blurted in desperation.

McCoy looked around. There was lots of clutter, but nothing big enough to conceal anyone. "Where?"

"Uh…"

"She must've passed out or something! What'll I do?" The voice paused for a moment, then continued cheerfully, "I know! I'll call the cops!"

"Behind the couch!" Kirk replied, pointing unnecessarily.

Chekov, who was closest, jumped behind it, followed by Sulu, then Reinalds, then McCoy. Spock was just squeezing behind when –

"She's in here, officers!"

Kirk shoved Spock, then dove in after him as a deep voice answered, "Stand back, miss," and the door flew off its hinges with a mighty crash.

"What am I sitting on?" Kirk whispered, nearly inaudible.

"That would be my face, Captain."

"Sorry, Spock."

Two policemen strolled into the room, followed by a nervous looking woman with tangled brown hair. They knelt by Amanda's body, which Kirk had left on the floor in his hurry to get behind the couch. They stared for a while.

"Doesn't look like she's breathing," one of the cops finally said.

"That can't be a good thing," the second officer replied.

"No, probably not," the first one agreed.

The nervous looking woman had been wringing her hands silently, but at a this she spoke up, "W-what should we do?"

"Oh, well…uh…probably…" he exhaled. "Oh, you know. Something."

"But what?"

"Well…" the cop looked at his partner. "I don't really know…"

"You don't know?"

"We're…not really cops," the second cop confessed.

The woman looked at them the way one might look at a trio of drunk Darth Vader cosplayers singing 'Total Eclipse of the Heart'. "What?"

"We're…uh…" the first cop faltered, looking over at his partner.

"Actors?" the second offered.

"Yeah, actors."

"But what were you doing outside the school?" she asked, confused.

"We were…"

"Shooting a movie!"

"Yes, yes."

"But I didn't see anyone else…"

"Look," the first cop said irritably, "how long have you been in the show biz?"

"Well, never…"

"Exactly," the first cop replied, looking satisfied.

At that moment, two other cops ran in the room, guns ablaze. _"Police! Put your hands up! We're the police! Get against the wall! Police! Surrender or die! Police! And did I mention we're police?"_

The two 'actors' tried to make a run for it, but the cops caught them and pushed them up against the wall, snapping on the handcuffs. They then turned to the woman, who looked like she was going to faint. "These two men are dangerous criminals, miss. It's a good ting we arrived when we did."

"Dangerous?" she asked fearfully. "What –what did they do?"

"We caught them…" he paused dramatically, "jaywalking!"

"Blatantly," his partner added.

"Oh, and impersonating policemen."

"With attempt to amuse!"

"And we would have gotten away with it too!" the first 'actor' replied, " if it hadn't been for you and your silly little dead body."

"Dead body?" the second policemen asked. "Where?"

The woman pointed to Amanda wordlessly.

"Oh, God!' the policeman exclaimed. He knelt down and picked her up. "Who could've done such a monstrous, terrible thing?"

And for some reason Kirk would never understand, Reinalds stood up from behind the couch and said,

"We did, sir."

…~…

Far away, in an Orion bar, Q looked up from his drink and laughed.


	4. Puppies

The cops and the woman stared at Reinalds, stunned. Behind the couch, Kirk froze, desperately wracking his brain for a way to get him and the crew out of this mess. "Analysis, Mr. Spock," he whispered.

"I have no idea what is going on, Captain, nor what we are going to do about it," Spock responded reassuringly.

"Lovely."

Meanwhile, Reinalds was standing there awkwardly, doing nothing, having already contributed to this 'lovely' situation, and now at a loss as to what to do next. He blinked a few times, and then looked up at the ceiling, as if the reason for his irrational behavior was floating above his head. When he discovered that it was not, he simply scratched his head and said, "Um."

"UM?" the first cop suddenly screamed, making everyone else in the room jump. "UM? You murder this girl, take away a bright, happy young life, and all you have to say for yourself is 'um'?"

"I… well… um…"

"How could you do such a terrible thing?"

"Um…" Reinalds stammered helplessly.

The cop took out his gun and aimed it at Reinalds. "I swear, the next time you say 'um' I'll shoot you though the head, you dirty, low-down criminal!"

"Er, I don't think we're allowed to that, sir," the second cop whispered to him.

"Oh, right." The first cop put away his gun. "Well, then I'll –I'll…"

"Throw his ass in jail, sir?" the second cop suggested.

"I'LL THROW YOUR ASS IN JAIL!"

Reinalds thought about asking, 'What will you do with the rest of me, sir?' then decided it would be a bad idea. He instead said, "Oh, I don't want that, sir."

"Well, you'd better not say 'um' again!" the first cop threatened.

"I won't, sir."

The cop nodded.

"All right then. To business. Did you kill this girl?" he asked. "And remember, you _are _under oath."

Reinalds didn't remember taking an oath, but answered, "No, I didn't."

"Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure, sir. She just dropped dead while we were talking."

"Just dropped dead, did she?"

"Yes, sir."

"Hmm…" The two policemen stared at him for a long, long time without saying a word. Reinalds started to get nervous. What if they didn't believe him? What if he got shot? There was some part of him, some deep, innate part of his consciousness, that expected to get killed at any moment. It was always there, whispering for him to watch out, no matter where he was or what he was doing. He wondered why this was, and why it only happened when he was in uniform.

"Then why the hell, "the first cop began, snapping Reinalds out of his reverie, "did you say that you did?"

"And why did you say 'we'?" the second cop asked.

"And why were you behind the couch in the first place?"

"And why are you dressed up like 'Star Trek'?"

"Well," Reinalds fumbled, "because…you see…I…um…"

A lot of things suddenly happened at once.

The first cop screamed, "DID YOU JUST SAY 'UM' AGAIN?" and tackled Reinalds to the floor. The second cop tried to intervene, but tripped over Amanda's dead body and fell on top of them. Kirk decided it wasn't doing anyone any good to continue hiding behind the couch, so he jumped out from behind it, along with the rest of the crew, and pulled the cops off of the red shirt. The aforementioned cops immediately turned on them and began punching away. In the midst of all this, the nervous woman had fainted and was in serious danger of being trampled, and the two fake cops were taking advantage of the chaos by quietly and inconspicuously making their way to the door. They were almost free when all of a sudden a tall man with dark hair, dark sunglasses, and a trench coat appeared in the doorway and shot them. He stepped over their bodies and, taking impeccable aim, raised the gun and shot the two real cops as well.

When Kirk and crew realized that the cops they had previously been fighting were no longer fighting back, they straightened and looked at the strange man, who now stood there silently, a hand up against the doorframe and the other at his side, the gun dangling from his fingertips. There was an awkward silence as they studied each other. Finally, Kirk stepped forward.

"Who are you?" he demanded. "What's going on?"

"Puppies," the man replied.

Kirk blinked. "What?"

"Puppies," the man repeated, and raised the gun.

Kirk barely had time to drop to the floor before the gun went off. He dove for the man's ankles, trying to bring him down, as Spock went for his neck. The Vulcan pinched the nerves hard, and waited for the man to collapse.

The man simply glared at him, angrily yelled "Puppies!" and fired his gun into the air. Spock nodded to himself, then calmly punched the man in the face, ducking out of the way as the man moved to return the favor. Meanwhile, Chekov had leapt on to the man's back, and Sulu was pulling at his shoulder, trying to get the gun. McCoy tended to Reinalds a few feet away. Reinalds sat there.

The man shook them off and grabbed Kirk, putting the gun to the captain's head. "Puppies!" he warned the rest of the crew, backing away. "Puppies!" His fingers tightened on the trigger. "Puppies, puppies, puppies, puppies…puppies, puppies."

"What's he doing, sir?" Sulu whispered to Spock.

"I believe he is trying to communicate with us."

"Yes, but what is he saying?" Chekov wondered.

"'Puppies', obviously."

Behind them, McCoy let out an exasperated sigh. "He meant what it _means, _Spock."

"Ah." Spock tilted his head thoughtfully. "That I do not know. However, it most likely has something to do with the deadly weapon that is being pointed at the captain's head."

"Oh, okay." Chekov replied.

They lapsed into a content silence, pleased with their mutual understanding of the situation.

"Oh God!" Sulu shouted suddenly. "He's going to kill the captain!"

Everyone was quite disconcerted at this new development. "What should we do?" Chekov cried. "We have to do _something!_"

"But what?" Sulu replied. "If we attack him, he'll shoot Captain Kirk!"

"What indeed," Spock mused. He seemed to come to a decision. "Gentlemen, when force is no longer an option, diplomacy must come into play. As it happens, my father is an ambassador, so I am rather adept at the art of negotiation." He turned back to the man, took a friendly step forward, bowed his head slightly, and began to speak.

"Puppies. Puppies, puppies, puppies, puppies, puppies. Puppies. Puppies, puppies? Puppies."

The man stared at Spock as if he'd just sprouted bunny ears. Spock nonchalantly patted his head, just to make sure he had not.

"Puppies…?" the man said, suspiciously.

"Puppies," Spock confirmed.

The man's face suddenly contorted with rage. "PUPPIES!"

…~…

Kirk, who had been watching all of this as if in a daze, felt the barrel of the gun press harder into his skull. He sensed that this was not going very well for him, and indeed, that was an understatement.

He saw his life pass before his eyes, followed by a wriggling purple dinosaur.

_Well, that's odd_, he thought. His stomach growled.

As if from far away, he heard himself begin to laugh.

"I was always afraid," he managed to say, "that I'd get caught with my pants down."

The gun went off.


	5. The Plot Begins To Start To Maybe Emerge

Author's Note:

Warning - this chapter consists entirely of OC's.

However, they are important to the plot and you cannot skip over them.

Thank you for your patience.

...~...

There is something about Monday mornings that is inherently evil.

No one is exactly sure what it is, though there are many theories. Some people think that it has something to do with the distance the moon is from the Earth on these mornings. Another theory, popular among academic types, is that gamma radiation from the Earth's core increases on Mondays and interferes with the gland that produces optimism, causing a temporary form of antisocial personality disorder, or depression. And then there are those who argue that it _isn't _gamma radiation that causes this interference, but extremely low-frequency sound waves , which would be all well and good were it not for the fact that these people claim that the sound waves in question are made by a race of sentient grape jellybeans that live in the walls of people's homes and communicate by humming 50's tunes.

All these theories and more are discussed at length in the New York Times bestseller 'Mondayology', as well as this: No matter what theory they stick to, no matter their race, religion or yearly income, all people agree that Monday mornings royally suck.

Such were the thoughts of one Phillip Johnson, who was, so far, having an exceptionally bad morning. He had awakened from his peaceful slumbers to the sound of construction workers next door, and was impeded in his efforts to threaten them with certain death by the fact that they only spoke Spanish and couldn't understand a word he was saying. He called over his android servant to translate, but twenty minutes in realized he had put in the wrong language pack and that his death threats were being translated into Swahili. He then gave up and went on with his routine, determined not to let this ruin his day, and got into the shower, where the hot water refused to work. After getting out of the shower, he realized that all the towels were in the wash, and had to resort to drying himself off with a tiny washcloth. He threw on a suit, tried unsuccessfully to fix his hair, then tripped on the top stair and tumbled all the way down. Battered, bruised, and considerably annoyed, he limped to the breakfast table and sat down, waiting to be served –only to be informed that they were out of blueberry waffles.

"Check again," he snapped at the android butler.

"I did, sir. They are not there."

"Well, check again!"

The android obediently left his presence, and returned in a few minutes with the news: "They are still not there, sir."

"Why not?" Philip asked it.

"You ate the last of them yesterday, sir."

"Then why didn't you go shopping yesterday?"

"I was busy with other matters, so I told Number 24 to do it."

"And why didn't Number 24 go shopping?"

"He was busy with other matters, so he told Number 71 to do it."

Philips hand was reaching toward the banana in the fruit bowl of his own volition. He pulled it back, his temper rising. "And why," he asked slowly and deliberately, "didn't Number 71 do it?"

"You threw a grenade at him and blew him up, sir."

He blinked. "I did?"

"Yes, sir."

"Why did I do that?"

"You were in a bad mood, sir."

Philip couldn't take it anymore. "I am going to be in an even WORSE mood if I don't have blueberry waffles sitting in front of me in the next ten minutes!" He pulled his gun out of his pants and waved it around menacingly.

The android gazed at him levelly. "Yes, sir," it replied in a monotone voice, and walked away.

He gritted his teeth and put the gun away. Damn android. Didn't even have the decency to cower in fear before it left. Sometimes Philip regretted his decision to switch from manpower over to androids. Oh, they get things done more quickly than humans, and yes, that's important in a business like his, where 'time is money', and yes, androids don't question your orders or your motives, and yes, there are dozens of great, fantastic reasons why androids were superior, but the truth was that emotionless beings could really, really get on your nerves sometimes. Threats didn't work on them, and neither did bullets, Philip had remedied the latter situation by simply throwing bombs at them whenever it caught his fancy, but today, unfortunately, he had left his grenade launcher in his other pants.

Philip sat there at the table, thinking dark, evil thoughts about what he would do to the butler if he failed to come back with the waffles, when suddenly…

"Good _morning _sir!"

He winced. _God, not now. _

"Mr. Johnson? Mr. Johnson? Oh it is such a _lovely _day outside, don't you think, sir? Oh what joy!"

Philip turned around slowly, ever so slowly, to face the two people who had come out of the elevator. One of them was a man in a white lab coat with curly brown hair and round glasses that kept sliding down his nose. The other, the one who had spoken, was in a suit almost identical to Philip's, and had blond hair and bright blue eyes, as well as an enormous grin on his face, which grew even wider as Philip turned to face him. The blonde waved. "Hello, sir!

"

"Hello, Neil," he grumbled back, and glared at the curly-haired man, who seemed to be suppressing a grin. His name was Bill Nye, and he was the company's top scientist as well as Neil's creator. After Philip had complained several times about how annoying androids, and their lack of emotions could be, Bill had taken it upon himself to make a new type of android that was programmed to show emotion, and a good deal of it at that, which turned out to be ten times more annoying. The scientist claimed that he had only done it to please him, but Philip suspected otherwise.

"What do you want?" he growled at them.

Bill opened his mouth to speak, but Neil beat him to the punch. "Oh, sir, the most _wonderful_ thing happened! Simply_ wonderful! _Oh I just _shiver_ with the sheer_ wonder _of it!"

"What?"

"Something _fantastic! _Oh, you're'going to be so _happy, _sir!"

"What was it?"

"It was_ great! _I saw it and thought: Oh, Mr. Johnson is going to _love _this! I was so _happy_ because I knew that you were going to be so _happy, _and then I thought about _cupcakes, _and then I got even _happier! _Oh, you simply can't imagine how terribly overjoyed I am at this fantastic, lovely, wonderful occurrence! Oh its just so, _so _–"

"For the love of God!" Philip finally screamed. "What happened!"

"What happened, sir?" Neil stared into space for a moment. His face fell. "I –I don't' remember, sir." His eyes filled with artificial tears. "I was so happy about it…. So excited to tell you" –his voice broke –"and now…I can't." He began to sob. "Oh _sir! _I've failed you! I've failed the company! I've failed the _world! _I'm such an incompetent _fool! _I should just DIE!" He collapsed at his feet, weeping inconsolably.

Philip was going to kill himself.

He glared murderously at Bill, who swallowed, knowing that any wrong word would be his last.

"Well? What happened?" he demanded, trying to ignore the sobbing android at his feet.

"It activated, sir."

Philip froze. "What! When?" he asked excitedly.

"An hour ago, sir."

"What! Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"You were sleeping!" Bill answered defensively.

Philip waved him off dismissively, "Whatever. So where did it open this time?"

"In a high school. The one down the road from Wal-Mart."

"Oh. That's new. Did you send someone out to greet the…visitors?"

Bill hesitated. "Yes," he finally answered.

"What's wrong?" Philip looked at him oddly. "Who did you send?"

"Erm…well…"

His voice lowered, becoming more threatening. "Who did you send?"

"Arnold," the scientist admitted.

Philip's eyes widened. "You WHAT?"


	6. Simple Astrophysics

The gunshot echoed throughout the small room. For some odd reason, with it came a large cloud of smoke, swirling about and setting visibility next to zero. After a few moments the smoke cleared, and everyone stared in astonishment – except Spock, who stared calmly.

Kirk was standing there, unharmed, looking utterly perplexed. The man in the trench coat looked equally perplexed. He held the barrel of the gun up to his face and inspected it.

"What…the hell…just happened?" McCoy finally managed to ask.

"It appears," Spock replied, "that he missed."

"He _missed_?" Sulu exclaimed.

"So it would seem."

"But...but it was pointed right at his head! He _couldn't _miss! Nobody could miss at that range!"

"It is illogical," Spock admitted, "but it is so."

The man seemed to realize this as well, and did not look particularly happy about it. He roared with fury, then aimed the gun at Spock and pulled the trigger.

_Click. _

The man's eyes widened. He tried again.

_Click. _

He tried again.

_Click._

He tried six more times.

_Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. _

And then, just for kicks, he tried once more.

_Click. _

After passing 'Denial' and collecting $200, the man moved on to the next step of the Kubler-Ross cycle. He threw the useless gun to the floor and threw Kirk to the ground. The captain heard Spock call his name, but it barely registered as the man gripped his throat with on hand and pulled a long knife out of his boot with the other. His face twisted into a malicious smile, and Kirk came to the realization, for the second time in two minutes, that he was about to die.

His life passed before his eyes again, this time chased by a screaming Klingon wielding a _bat'leh_. _That makes sense, I guess, _he thought, and couldn't help grinning. _My life sure as hell's pissed off the Klingons a bunch of times. _

The man raised the knife. Kirk closed his eyes.

"ARNOLD! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?"

The knife clattered to the floor, and he felt the man –Arnold? –get up off his chest. He opened his eyes, and sat up. In an instant, Spock was at his side. "Captain. Are you all right?"

"I guess…"

"Move, Spock!" McCoy shoved the Vulcan out of the way and knelt beside Kirk, waving his tricorder over him. "Hmm. That's odd."

"What?"

"It says you're dead."

"News to me," Kirk replied wearily. He looked around. "What happened?"

McCoy shrugged. "Some guy came in."

"Really? That's new. Let me guess –he shot Crazy Puppy Man, and is now trying to kill Chekov."

"Nah. It actually looks like this guy is Crazy Puppy Man's boss or something." He nodded toward the two men. "Check it out."

Kirk looked. It did appear that way, actually. The man was standing in front of the other men, apologetically repeating the word 'puppies' over and over again, while the other man glared at him. He was in a snappy black business suit, and was strikingly handsome, with brown hair and piercing gray eyes. Behind him stood another man in a suit, with blonde hair and big blue eyes that were red-rimmed, as if he had been crying.

The brown-haired man finally turned away from the man in the trench coat and to Kirk. He smiled pleasantly. "Hello, and welcome to 21st century Earth."

_Finally, some answers. _Kirk thought. "Who are you?"

"My name is Philip Johnson." He stuck out his hand. "You must be Captain Kirk." He frowned suddenly. "Funny. I remember you wearing pants."

"I was." Kirk refused to shake his hand. "Your…associate tried to kill me and my crew," he said, indicating the crew in question with a tilt of the head.

Philip sighed. "Yes, he does that sometimes." He shrugged. "He's a hell of an assassin, but the bloodlust thing tends to get a bit inconvenient at times. And then, of course, there's the fact that when we surgically enhanced his senses, in order for him to kill faster and quicker and all that jazz, someone screwed up his speech centers and new he can't say anything but 'puppies'." He shot an evil look at the blonde, who blinked innocently.

"I didn't do that, sir. Bill did."

"I know."

"Then why are you looked at me like that?" Tears began streaming down his face. "Did I do something wrong? Did I displease you? I did, didn't I? Oh, I'm so terribly WORTHLESS!" He began to wail. "You must HATE ME!"

Philip looked incredibly peeved. "Neil, I don't have time for this."

"I understand! You don't want me in your presence! I'm not WORTHY to be in your presence!"

"Neil."

"That's fine! I'll just leave! I'll just leave, and I'll _never come back!_" He turned to do so, tripped over one of the many corpses on the floor, and fell flat on his face. He lay there and sobbed.

"That is it!" Kirk suddenly screamed, startling everyone in the room. "You!" He pointed accusingly at Philip. "_You_ are going to tell me whatever it is you want to tell me so badly that you had to send a _crazy person_ out here to _kill _me –"

" That was my scientist's fault –"

" –and then I am taking my crew and what's left of my sanity and we are going back to the 23rd century, where _things make sense_!"

"I'm afraid that won't be possible."

"Why…the HELL…not?"

"Because," Philip relied smoothly, "I'm going to take you back to my headquarters, get some information from you, and then I'm going to kill you. If you don't mind, that is."

"I DO mind!"

He shrugged. "That's too bad, I guess." He turned to go. "Come along."

Kirk lost it.

With a mighty roar, he charged the man and tackled him to the floor, cursing at the top of his lungs. He then began to punch the man in the face as hard as he could.

"Mr. Johnson!" Neil leapt to his feet suddenly and grabbed Kirk, trying to pull him off Phillip. Kirk spun around to hit the android, and then screamed in pain as his arm was bent backwards, ready to break–

"Excuse me?"

Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at the door. A tall, skinny teenager was peering in the doorway.

"What?" Kirk snapped, his shirt in tatters.

"Um…well…"

"What do you want?"

"Well, we kind of, like, have this big art project due tomorrow, and we're trying to work on it, but, like…"

"Spit it out!" Philip yelled, equally annoyed.

"You're just…kind of, like…loud."

"Oh." They thought about that for a moment. "I guess we are being sort of loud."

"Yeah." Encouraged, the boy continued. "It's really hard to concentrate with you guys in here…"

"I'll bet."

"So could you guys try to, like, keep it down?"

"Oh, sure," Kirk replied with false cheerfulness. "We're getting, like, beat up and shot in here, but you know, we'll keep it down, so you can finish your art project." He spat the last two words as if they tasted like Vulcan candy.

The teen became defensive. "Well, I'm sorry about your problems, sir, and I'd like to help, but I don't want to like, fail _art_."

"If you want to help, then why don't you call the police?" McCoy suggested.

"Well, I would, but..."

"But what?"

"We're not allowed to use our phones at school."

"Can't you make an exception?"

"I don't know. Is it an emergency?"

McCoy glared at him.

"Okay, all right, hold on." He pulled a snazzy-looking thing that resembled a communicator out of his pocket, flipped it open, and peered at the screen. He then flipped it closed, and put it back.

"What are you doing?" the doctor inquired. "What's wrong?"

"I don't have service."

"Service?"

"Oh, for God's sake!" Philip interjected. He grabbed Kirk by the arm and stood up. "Come on. Let's go."

"No!" The captain yanked his arm away. "Why can't I just tell you what you want right now and then go on my merry way?"

"We could do that. But to be quite honest, I'm in a really bad mood, and I want to kill you. So, come along –" he pulled a fearsome-looking gun out of his pants, and aimed it at Spock –"or I'll kill Mr. Spork, or whatever his name is."

Spock gazed at the gun nonchalantly. Kirk's mind raced. He really didn't want to go with this guy, but he didn't want Spock to die either –what should he do? He thought fast, and decided to just go along with it for now until a better opportunity presented itself. He was about to say as much when –

"OH MY GOD!"

Reinalds, who had done absolutely nothing since the middle of Chapter 4 and had decided that now was as good a time as any for action, pointed at the wall behind Philip, eyes full of terror. "LOOK!"

Philip looked. There was a picture of Nicki Minaj on the wall, which was indeed terrifying, thought not enough to constitute that sort of reaction. Usually. He turned back. "I don't see any –"

Orange spray paint hit him in the face.

He screamed, and fell against the wall, clawing at his eyes. Arnold pulled out his knife, just before Reinalds swung a metal broom handle and hit him on the side of the head. The assassin crumbled to the floor. "Run, Captain!" he yelled, doing the same. All six of them ran to the door –only to be stopped by Neil.

"Where do you think _you're _going?" Neil snarled, looking extremely, extremely pissed.

"That way," Chekov answered, pointing.

"I don't _think_ so," the android growled. "Nobody – and I mean _nobody_ – hurts Mr. Johnson and gets away with it!"

"Analysis, Mr. Spock," Kirk whispered.

"You're ugly," Spock said to the android.

Neil froze. Tears sprung to his eyes. His hand went up to his face. "I'm…ugly?"

"Yes," Spock continued, "and you smell, too."

He sniffled. "Is that why Mr. Johnson hates me?" Neil implored, his blue eyes swimming in tears.

"Probably." Spock replied, and brushed past him into the hallway. The rest of the crew followed.

"Which way, Captain?" Sulu asked, looking down the corridors.

"Right!" Kirk shouted, darting down the left hallway.

They ran around the school for a while, trying to find the exit, and ended up getting hopelessly lost. They finally resorted to flinging open random doors and peering inside, which confused many teachers and earned them several detentions. After about an hour of scrambling about like rats in a maze, they flung open the 42nd door and tumbled into the sunlight.

"Freedom!" Sulu exclaimed, falling to his knees. Chekov giggled.

Kirk turned to Reinalds. "Ensign, I must say, that was very resourceful of you back there. I had no idea that guards could be so …useful."

"Oh, it's nothing, sir," Reinalds said sheepishly, staring at his toes.

"Captain," Spock interjected, turning to face him, "where are we going?"

Kirk faced his crew. "We are going," he announced, "to get some pants."


End file.
